Day and Night
by Hughesh4hercules
Summary: As the night gives way to day, an exhausted Robin begins to settle into his new role. As the day chases away the night, a watchful Batman begins to understand his charge.


Damian patrolled the southern block, tucking into a roll that took him farther than he expected when he landed on the southernmost roof top. Disentangling himself from his cape, he brushed off the cement dust from his tunic while checking around to make sure that no one had seen his sloppy gymnastics. Grayson would never allow him to live it down. Seeing no one, he quickly went back to work, pulling out binoculars to continue the search.

The night was edging to dawn, giving them little time to find the criminals before the rest of the city awoke. The slight tinge of grey to the sky also marked how long he and Grayson had been out. The tremors of exhaustion that shook his hands and, by extension, the binoculars as he held them to his eyes as well as his earlier unusual clumsiness affirmed the early hour. Damian pulled the goggles away from his face, unable to focus on anything through the shifting view. Straightening out his arms, he flexed his fingers and arms carefully, trying to get the shaking under control. There were techniques taught in the League about them, but Damian only knew the basics given his aborted education with them.

" -Tt- " He scoffed, a catch-all disdain not only for his exhaustion and his body's irritating inability to cope with the long hours, but also for passing thought the he could have learned more with the League. He did not need them, he would figure it out on his own. He did not need anyone but himself, he knew. A traitorous thought appended itself to that motto, saying that Grayson was not a bad ally to have. The absurdity of it made him scoff again.

His communicator crackled to life in his ear, before Grayson's cheerful voice piped through, "Robin, got a frog in your throat?" Damian grimaced, not that Grayson could see, and barely stopped himself in time before he scoffed again.

"Hnn-" He settled on instead, knowing that Grayson would not allow him to remain in silence. The older man would heckle him until he got a sufficient answer, all the while with that unholy gleam of good cheer in his eyes. Afterward, Grayson would pass it off as 'trying to understand you' or 'improving relations' or some kind of 'teaching'. Damian doubted it. It took him a long while, but he rather thought that Grayson _liked_ getting a rise out of him. Only that he could cover it up in the name of the 'greater good'. It evoked a grudging respect that he would not admit to even on his death bed. That did not mean he liked it, though. If anything, knowing that Grayson did it made it all the more irritating.

This time, he scoffed before he could stop himself. Grayson did not let it pass by unremarked, chiming in with his unsolicited opinion, "Or is that a sneeze? Coming down with something?" His voice dripped concern, but it was so noticeable that it had to be false. The concern, which he did not need, mind, was Grayson's way of making fun of him. His fingers tightened around the binoculars, shaking this time with a sudden burning rage rather than exhaustion. Damian had no idea that it was possible to make fun of someone out of concern. That was something that was never shown before he came to Gotham, and he had not been here long enough to learn. In the League, concern was fake, concern was a scathing remark against another's abilities. Concern was condescending, because it said the other was not good enough. It said they were weak. Damian stiffened his spine, even as his weary muscles protested.

He was about to snap back when Grayson cut in, saying musingly, "It would probably be best to turn in for the night, we aren't making any progress out here." Damian scowled, his mouth twisting into a disapproving shape while he clenched his jaw, cutting off the tirade he wanted to unleash on Grayson. His father certainly would not have called it a night, Damian ranted mentally, he would not have allowed any criminal, no matter how petty, to get away. Grayson was weak, it only further confirmed his opinion of him.

"No." He barked back over the line, bringing the goggles back up to his face. The resolve he had burning through him stamped down on his exhaustion, and he scoured the streets for any sign of the man aided by hyper-acute night-vision.

Grayson started talking again, but Damian tuned him out. He did not need to listen to him, after all. But part of what he was saying trickled into his mind, being processed after the fact. The part about "...wouldn't want to you trip over your own two feet..." snapped into his mind, like a rubberband pulled taught and released. It stung just about the same. Damian hunched his shoulders as his cheeks burned, Grayson had seen his tumble earlier. He knew! Damian's expression went from grimly determined to simply grim, his lips pressed into a hard line and going white from the force of it.

Aside from the wave of mortification and embarrassment, he was angry. No, he was livid. Why did Grayson have to mention it, it was all the imbecile's fault that they had not caught the man already. It was all the imbecile's fault that they were not back at base and resting by now. It was the imbecile's fault, then, that Damian fell. Underneath the anger, a litany of fears went through their standard refrain. What if he was not good enough? What if Grayson sent him back? He did not have anywhere to go. He did not want to die. Logic backed up the tiny voice of fear, saying that Grayson had been the first Robin, he would know what to look for in a good one, and that Robins could always be replaced if they were not good enough. Damian did not acknowledge his fears, preferred not to listen, so the only thing they could do was fuel his anger and multiply.

He was so caught up in his stew of emotions that he did not hear the jiggling of the door, this building's roof access, as someone picked the lock from the inside. He was not so oblivious that he missed the banging on the door when the aspiring locksmith failed and began bludgeoning the lock to get it open. Damian came to attention, slinking over to the side of the door, even though at part of him wanted to rip open the door and beat up the unsuspecting person on the other side for interrupting his brooding. Whoever it was must have had a gun, for after a brief lull in the banging - a total silence, even Grayson was quiet over the comm - the lock on the door, and most of the handle, was shot out.

Damian narrowed his eyes at the damage, cataloging what sort of caliber and gun could produce that effect. Whatever it was, he doubted it was legal. A thrill of anticipation coiled in his gut. Finally, a criminal that he could deal with. He was not well suited to the usual herding and cat and mouse games that Grayson liked to play, he was more a point and shoot type. It was simple, it was understood, it was gloriously rewarding.

With a final kick, the door opened and the person broke through. Damian did not even wait for the man to put away his weapon, a Desert Eagle, before he was upon him. Striking out with a knife hand block to point the gun elsewhere, he followed it up with a solid kick to the chest. The man, it turned out, was more solid than Damian's kick. His opponent grunted in surprise while Damian went careening in the other direction. Flipping in midair to get his feet back underneath him, he landed roughly, falling to one knee. Adrenaline thrummed in his veins, while his blood pounded in his ears. It sang for him to attack, so he rushed back in, heedless of the fact that his previous assault had failed.

The man had cleared the door frame and was bringing his gun around to shoot when Damian dropped low and sliced the man's feet out from underneath him with a sweeping kick. A smug smirk wormed its way onto his face at the satisfying way he fell. He remembered one of those idiotic idioms that Grayson tried to teach him, and felt he finally understood the meaning. _The bigger they are..._

Even as he moved to tie up the fallen man, the other showed surprising dexterity and core body strength by leaping to his feet from his supine position. Damian jumped back, but did not clear the range of the man's flailing arms. One clenched fist caught him in the chest, knocking the air out of him and sending him flying. He hit the ground hard, sending what little breath he still had in him flying out in a wheeze, and prepared to hit the brick edge of the roof. He never did, instead he slammed his back up against something with give. Looking to the side, he saw they were a pair of legs. A very _familiar_ pair of legs.

He followed the legs up, and up, tilting his head back until he reached the top. Grayson looked back down at him, a strange expression on his face. It was not anything Damian recognized, but he searching for a meaning in Batman's face. Finally a smile quirked Grayson's mouth, and he said, "You found him." Damian gave a start, having not noticed that the man he picked a fight with was the man he had been looking for. It had not mattered at the time, he simply wanted a fight and one was handed to him. He had not questioned it. Wanting to look anywhere but Grayson, he saw the situation had already been dealt with while he was taking impromptu tumbling lessons.

He had not even heard the Police marching up the stairs, he should have heard it. He had been too focused, ignoring the details, ignoring the rest of the world. Too intent on losing himself in the fight. Damian stared fixedly forward, waiting for the pronouncement on high. He was sure Grayson was going to pick holes in his performance tonight, and he tensed up in preparation, putting mental barriers of self-confidence, disdain and apathy between him and the situation. Grayson broke those down with two short words.

"Good job."

Damian snapped his head back, to look up at Dick. He hit his head against Batman's knees, but he ignored the pain. While he was staring, Dick offered his hand down to him, saying, "Let's go home." Damian could only wonder, if Dick had grown _taller_ somehow. He blinked and shook his head. Of course Grayson seemed taller, from this perspective. He knocked aside the hand and rose to his feet under his own power. After taking a large step to put some distance between himself and Grayson, and checking to make sure that the police had the man under control, he turned to dawn.

"Yeah...home."


End file.
